Rating/Warnings: T

Word Count: 3,464

Character(s): Maka Albarn, Azusa, Soul Evans, Black Star

Pairing(s): Maka/Soul

Summary: Maka isn't a weapon, she's hardly a meister.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Notes: So I suck at updating the Vampire Fic, therefore I finished this and hope it soothes all your SoMa feels. Maybe, probably not. But Vampire Fic will be updated soon! This is kind of on the angsty side with a dash of fluff. And let's pretend Maka had some serious nightmares after the Asura thing, because seriously, who wouldn't?

After Asura is defeated and the school is brought back to Death City, Lord Death makes the students that helped in the fighting attend sessions with Asuza. Maka doesn't understand why; most of the weapons and meisters that fought were trained and had seen gore and fights before. They were trained to be able to handle them.

But she's not really surprised when she and Soul, Black Star and Tsubaki, and Kid and the Thompsons are the only ones who need extra sessions. They were the ones who went up against Asura, after all.

Most of the time, Soul skips them, but Maka's sure that with their luck, this will be counted as extra lessons, and they'll be sent on a remedial lesson soon since he skipped so many. Not that she minds, since she hates just sitting around. But Maka wouldn't tell Soul that.

Asuza asks questions like: "Did you know you had the weapon gene?" And Maka answers no.

"Do you ever have nightmares about the Kishin?" And she does, sometimes. But it's mostly bad dreams about unnatural grins on her weapon's face, and blades protruding from her body. Sometimes it is fingers in her sides and red eyes that aren't Soul's glaring down at hers, but Maka keeps her mouth shut and says, "Not really."

The Deathscythe asking the questions must know Maka's lying. She must, because Maka's never been good at lying or hiding her feelings, but she doesn't press, and Maka doesn't say anything.

"You're a scythe."

And it's not like she doesn't know. Not like she isn't reminded every time her papa comes near her, or Stein offers to cut her open and take a look, or Asuza asks about it.

"No, I'm a meister."

Soul doesn't take his eyes off her. She can feel it, the tingle on her spine, the way her hair raises on the back of her neck. Maka almost turns around and says go away, but she knows he doesn't mean any harm.

So Maka straightens her shoulders and stares down at her book, trying not to think of long, sharp fingers in her side or the sight of her own blade as she wakes.

"I don't want to be the weapon, Soul." Maka turns away from him, continuing to rifle through her locker. She spies him as he rolls against the lockers, knocking the back of his head against the cool metal.

"It could be fun?"

"Or give you a new reason to be angry." She finds what she's looking for, a book for Tsubaki, and tucks it into the bag she's carrying, thanking Soul quickly for holding it open for her. Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, "Besides, I like being the meister."

Soul pouts but denies the pout and shoves away from the lockers, not even bothering to grab his own books for the next class. Maka glares, huffs at him, but doesn't comment, instead falling into place at his side, theirs arms brushing through the thick layers between them. My shirt, my sweater, Soul's jacket, his t-shirt, that's all that separates them and it's too much, sometimes. Too much that she doesn't even hear him.

"Whaa?" She blurts out, turning to him with eyebrows raised. "What about kittens and meat grinders?"

"Trying to get your attention, tiny tits," he chirps, turning down another hallway and narrowly avoiding being mowed over. He hits Maka when he moves, only managing to catch her arm, but she slips from his grip and she's suddenly sprawled out on the floor, legs spread, showing everyone the panties she's wearing.

They both don't react fast enough, Maka grudgingly admits later when Soul is telling Black Star. But after a few moments of staring, of flashing the whole damn hall, Soul leans forward and pulls her knees together, tugging her up. And then he's marching back down the hall, hands shoved in his pockets, face as red as hers, she's sure.

"See?" She shouts, glaring at him, not wanting to chance throwing a book because with her luck it will hit one of the NOT kids that crowd the hall. "Meisters are supposed to be graceful!"

She doesn't get anything remotely good. Not a glare or a smirk or an insult; just a lazy hand waving over his shoulder as he walks into the classroom.

Maka doesn't know she's awake until Soul's cool voice seeps into her head, telling her to shift them back in. Shift what? She wants to ask, but her mind is full of Asura's terrifying gaze and his fingers and Soul falling, falling, falling.

Warm, tanned hands touch her face, and from the corner of her eye, Maka can see the shredded pillows and mattress, the gleam of black and green blades before they become her again.

She isn't sure where he's taking her when he pulls her from her bed, but Maka doesn't protest, just follows along, their hands locked tightly together. "Soul," she tries countless times, but nothing comes out. Nothing ever comes out.

"Just-," he sighs, running his free hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. "What do you want to do?"

Maka shrugs, not trusting her voice to speak. She should sleep on the couch, because the thought of impaling Soul while he sleeps is not a welcome one.

And besides, she's too awake. She needs to find a book or something and distract herself, but then Soul's tugging her hand, pulling her toward the living room. "Guess we'll have to con your dad into getting you a new mattress, huh?" She doesn't laugh and he doesn't either, and soon she's tucked up against his side, their hands never straying from each other.

Stein says, "Just try and learn to control it," and Soul's eyes are a strange mix of emotions she can't begin to comprehend. Does he want her to do it? Does he want her to stop? Because he should really just say so and stop—

"Maka," Stein snaps his fingers, frown on his face. "Let's start."

The next hour and a half are spent doing complicated things to try and activate the weapon gene. Most of it is tedious work, some involve she and Soul holding hands, while other exercises are meant to piss her off.

And Black Star does a pretty fine fucking job of that.

She's glaring at him, and something stirs inside her as her rage builds, his taunts and sneers pissing her off more than they should. Everyone is pissing her off. She doesn't want to be the fucking weapon and she doesn't want to do this stupid goddamn training, but nobody listens and nobody cares and she's sick and tired of being someone's fucking experiment—

She isn't sure what's happening until it's already happened and she feels something warm and wet touch her, feels her mind cloud over and the dim sounds of

"Tiny tits like—"


"—Grab her—"

Some hard and cold and pulsing hits her like a brick to the face, and she tumbles, falls, grapples for something, screams. But she can't stop. This isn't black blood, and her wavelength won't fix this now. She sees but can't stop and please, please no.

Vaguely, she hears someone talking to her, something about being safe and shh, it's fine, you're safe here, and panting and—

Fingers, laughing, eyes too dark and angry and pain, pain, pain.

Her eyes are closed but she sees him anyway. Bravery be damned. This is too much and she's too young and she's not a weapon, hardly a meister, just look at Soul's chest, but she'll get stronger, she will, she promises.

Asura taunts and squeezes and Maka isn't brave or strong. Not even a little.

But when her eyes open, it's not sadistic red she meets; it's calm and warm crimson. And Soul is waiting, always waiting.

He's asleep, too, and Maka touches the tip of a finger to his hair. It's soft, like a cat's, and when she presses more, resting her palm against his head, he murmurs and leans up against it like a cat too.

"I told you I didn't want to be the weapon, stupid," she whispers, turning, twisting, and staring at his sleeping face. His mouth is open, drool dripping onto his pillow, and she wants to laugh and kiss him and punch him and ask how he carried her up the stairs to their apartment. He might be strong, but he wasn't that strong. Or, she didn't think he was.

Maybe he would be a good meister, she thinks, her hand falling from his hair and to his cheek. He shuffles a bit, socked feet hitting hers.

"I told you not to keep things from me," he murmurs, and she watches his eyes slip open, not as asleep as she'd thought. Sneaky bastard.

"You kept the fact that you ruined my green blouse from me." He's not having it, it seems, and Maka presses more against the pillow. It smells of sweat and shampoo and something so Soul that her heart beats quick and fast.

He's sitting up before she has a chance to think, and she follows slowly, not looking at him. "It's not—never that bad. You know that."

"I'm not talking about the weapon thing," he glances over his shoulder at her, then turns back, staring at his wall. "You were conscious when the blades came out, but it didn't seem like you were and you looked terrified. You fought Black Star like you wanted to kill him. You stabbed him." She doesn't have time to worry about the fact that she stabbed one of her friends, because Soul's turning to her, eyes blazing and mouth set in a firm line.

"When we managed to get you down, you were screaming and crying and yelling Asura's name! Why—if that's what's triggering your weapon genes, then we have to do something about it. I know he scared you—"

"Of course he scared me, Soul! Who wouldn't be afraid of him? He's the Kishin! The whole reason we fight. And we fought him. We're just—we're only kids, Soul."

His eyes soften, but not enough to make the anger in her disappear. She turns away from him, walking toward the door, stepping over jeans and boxers on her way.

"I want to help you, Maka," he murmurs before she leaves, and she wants to tell him that she doesn't need help. She'll fix this by herself, stop being such a girl and being so scared of someone who is dead. But she can't lie and can't promise him things she can't do, and she leaves without a word.

"Just so we're clear," Maka offers a small smile, holding out the Tupperware container filled with cupcakes to Black Star, "I made Soul try them, so you won't die of food poisoning."

"I dunno," Black Star takes them anyhow, popping the lid off with the arm not in a sling. He eats one. "Soul does an awful lot of holding the truth back when it comes to your cooking."

"And my guilt has left." She sits on the side of the bed, resting against his bent knees. "Kind of."

"Not really, huh?"

"No," she admits, turning to look at him. Her bangs hang more in her eyes than she likes; she'll have to ask Tsubaki or Liz to cut them for her soon. "Not really at all."

Black Star tosses his head back and laughs, pushing a cupcake into her hand. It's chocolate, her favorite, while he favors the vanilla. And it's easy with him right now, despite the fact that she stabbed him and he's still in the hospital. Well, she assumes Tsubaki's keeping him here so he doesn't do anything stupid, but still. "I'm really sorry about that, by the way."

"S'okay. New scars are always fun to poke. And Tsubaki has to rub this minty-smelling stuff on it, so that's a plus."

"You like the smell?" Maka asks, eyebrow raised, but isn't surprised when he laughs again.

"No, but I don't mind Tsubaki's chest in my face. She is my most loyal minion."

"You chose well."

He shrugs, shoving another cupcake into his mouth. "But seriously, Maka? It's totally fine. I mean, you didn't even wanna try the stupid thing out, and I can at least pride myself on getting you so angry that you actually tried to kill me." He doesn't say it with any anger. It's more like…like pride. And it makes her…well she's not sure. But she isn't really guilty anymore.

They sit in silence for a while, picking at their cupcakes. Maka wishes when it was easy like this with Black Star. When they could climb trees and swim at the local pool and just be them without any weapons or Kishin. But it's been such a long time since those days, and they're both so different, so changed, now. "I really don't want to be a weapon."

"So don't be," Black Star says seriously, eyeing her with big blue eyes. Despite the frosting on the tip of his nose and corner of his mouth, she can't laugh. "Be you; be Maka. If you don't want to be a weapon, then don't. Actually listen to Asuza when she talks to you. I…" he takes a breath and glares at her, eyes darting between the closed door and her. "After the whole Kishin thing, she helped me. Made me realize that it wasn't my fault we almost failed. That it wasn't my fault Tsubaki got hurt. So I'm sure she can talk to you and help you figure out how to control the changes." He takes another cupcake, and Death, is that his sixth? "And then I can hit you without getting maimed."

"I'll be waiting," Maka tells him, slipping from the bed and looking at him once more. "Thanks, Black Star."

"I do what I can to help my lost minions. Now, shoo! I need some alone time with my cupcakes."

She leaves.

Maka sees Asuza four times a week, and it does help.

Soon, she's not waking up throughout the night terrified out of her mind, and her dreams are filled with nonsense, not mad eyes and pain.

Asuza tells her that it's a defence mechanism. That the only reason it keeps coming back, that her blades keep emerging, are because she's worried Asura will come back and hurt her friends again; hurt her.

So the Deathscythe brings Maka into the Death Room and shows her the cross that Lord Death buried the Kishin's soul beneath, how it is cracked but sturdy and strong, and she is relieved.

Soon, Soul isn't miserable or asking about her scythes, and her grades get back to normal, because she'd allowed them to slip and Ox—fucking Ox—had taken the lead in the school's academic achievement and no. Just no.

Soul laughs when she locks herself in her room to pour over books, with Blair watching carefully and silently from the bed, and Maka smiles because okay, this is good, better, it's normal and she just. Needs normal.

"You sound better," Soul comments one night, their legs pressed together on the couch. His hand is open, almost as if he's inviting her to hold it. She wants to, but doesn't. "And look better."

She's scared still, she can't deny it. But maybe she needs a pre-kishin to hunt, or a hand to hold. Maka is sleeping well again, and when she turns to Soul, she can see that he is too. The bags beneath his eyes that she figures she caused are gone. "I am better."

"Good." He fists his hand and throws it around her shoulder, pulling her close. "That's good, Maka."

"Just an FYI," Maka says, bracing herself, gritting her teeth as Black Star stretches. "We have a school dance coming up."

"Yeah!" Soul calls, leaning against a tree while Tsubaki frets beside him. "I gotta take her, and I don't want her face all swollen because you decided to get back at her!"

"Don't worry; I plan to dislocate her shoulder. All in good fun. Now shut the fuck up while your god warms up! Jesus."

He's grinning, smirking really, and Maka keeps her eyes locked on his, preparing herself for a night filled with pain killers and Soul's whines about her soon to be bruised shoulder.

When he hits her, he doesn't disappoint.

"Soul," Maka breathes carefully, slowly, watching his eyes slowly flicker open, taking in the scene before him. She'd taken fifteen minutes to decide how she wanted to do this, and after Blair finally turning into a human and kicking her off her own bed, muttering something about thinking too loud, Maka had decided this was the best approach.

But when Soul looks mildly alarmed, staring up at her like she's lost her mind, Maka realizes that maybe thinking about how to go about kissing Soul at three in the morning is probably not in her best interest. Ever.

"You're dreaming," she whispers, wiggling her fingers in front of her face, and now Soul's grinning, eyes having gone from sleepy to alert in seconds. Wow, nice reaction time. "Totally dreaming."

"You're an idiot," he tells her, beginning to sit up, moving to rest his hand on her pajama short-clad hip. She slips a bit and lands in his lap, but it isn't all that uncomfortable. "What the hell are you doing?"

Maka scowls, because how the holy hell does he not know? He can't be that damn stupid—

She kisses him because his face is annoying her and that's what she came here to fucking do. He seems a bit shocked, and her teeth hurt a bit from clacking against his. And this is so completely unsexy and terrible because he's drooling a bit and tastes a bit sour from sleep, but it's good too because this is her—their—first kiss, and they're Soul and Maka.

The second kiss is better, slower, and Soul rubs circles into the skin at her hip, drawing her closer to him as they circle their hips against each other. He's a bit hard, she thinks, but isn't completely sure, and she's a bit (really, really) wet. And they have school in like five or six hours and maybe hot make outs can wait until a decent time.

That is, until Soul sucks the skin of her neck between his teeth and then kisses and licks it after he's done, and okay. Okay this is better than sleep and a whole lot better than school. "You know," he breathes, nosing against her jaw, tracing his tongue along the line of her neck. "I'm happy you're back to normal. That everything is normal and okay again."

"Mm," Maka agrees, and even though she still has nightmares a bit, it's not bad or horrible, and Blair is there when she wakes up, and Soul is snoring a room away and she's safe. "I'm sorry I worried you." They've stopped kissing. Soul's face is pressed against her collarbone, lips against them but not kissing, just resting. "And that I didn't let you help. It was just something I needed to do on my own."

"To be stronger," Soul agrees, tilting his face to look at her. He's not smiling, but he's not unhappy. "I get it. Now, at least. But you don't have to do stuff alone."

Swallowing, Maka kisses him chastely, leaning her forehead against his. "Okay."

They lie down, Soul grumbling about not being a body pillow, dammit Maka, and she just cuddles closer, knowing what a secret cuddle whore he is, and Soul takes it, and she sleeps easy, warm, safe.

"What," Soul says the next day, shoveling fries into his mouth; glaring at a sheet of paper she'd printed out in the library. "Is this? Did you schedule our make out sessions?"

Maka leans forward, a bit irritable because while she slept well, she didn't sleep long enough. And that's not cool or acceptable, no matter what Soul says. "Decent hours only! And no bed sharing until we can handle our hormones!"

"You jumped me," he points out, glaring. "Like, straddled me while I was asleep and rubbed against me while making out." He points to himself, "I am in complete control."

"So what if I told you I'm not wearing panties and I want to go make out in the empty classes on the third floor?" She can't help the blush that spreads across her face at the words, and she glances around to make sure nobody is listening.

He might twitch, but Maka can't tell. He does scowl and push away from the table, shuffling quickly away with a quick, "You win, harlot. Nicely played."

Waiting a few moments, Maka follows.